Log Date: 4/6/99 Log Cast: Webb, assorted NPC civilians, assorted NPC Marines, Tethra (NPC), Ariani (NPC), Shenner, Elly, Lon Log Intro: War has come to Caspar... and Shenner and her friends at the Sandbar, determined to defend the bar that is almost a second home to them all, have turned the place into an impromptu rest stop for civilians who are trying to make their way south to Trinumvira Base. With the death of the band's lead Singer, Rekkie Sheldon, Shen has no other place besides the bar to sleep anyway -- and neither do the remaining musicians or Ariani or Emma. But their efforts have not gone unnoticed, not in the slightest, and Shenner's soldier friend Jonathan Webb has already begun to get what help he can to the Sandbar's stubborn defenders. He's gotten Shen some personal help, too, in the shape of a brand new blaster. But one blaster is not enough to fight against the Imperial forces sweeping over the city, and Webb's not yet done with his gifts of arms... ---------- Webb enters the Sandbar. Webb has arrived. The Sandbar A large circular room creates the main part of Caspar's infamous SandBar. Dark wood paneled walls adorned with all sorts of paraphanalia set the relaxed athmosphere of the bar. Photographs and holovids are pinned randomly around, seemingly with no order at all. Posters from years past hang proudly, displaying obscure bits of Plaxton's recent history. Several windows made from a deep blue glass allow light in from outside, while still keeping the appearance of the bar rather dark. Along one curved wall a marble bar stands proudly, where Ariani busies herself making drinks and cleaning occational spots of the bar. There is an abundant amount of seating in here. You notice quite a few booths and tables, as well as a loft which protrudes out over the bar. A popular local band plays smooth jazz in the background. ----For help with tables, type "PLACE HELP" ----For help with drinks, type "BAR HELP" -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Webb => OOC Sign: IC Status of the Sandbar(#8186n) => Draegar => Ariani => Emma -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- leads to Fountain Square - Plaxton City. Webb trudges his way into the Sandbar, accompanied by another Marine in similar field armor, save for the fact that the second Marine's armor is sized for someone female, which said Marine obviously is. Between the two of them, they carry a promising looking slate-green crate, lettered with plain, black stencilled lettering. Two more Marines follow with a second, similar crate. Daylight in Plaxton City is a chancy thing these days; half the time it'd be raining anyway under normal circumstances, but then, these _aren't_ normal circumstances. A weak watery light makes it in from outside, the only illumination in the Sandbar aside from what small glowsticks and other portable forms of light various denizens of the city have smuggled into the building on their persons. In the erratic light it can be seen that the bar is fairly crowded. Dirty, weary faces of several species, most of which are paler than normal for their assorted kinds, can be spotted in the gloom. Muted conversation filters from table to booth and back again; there's a baby sniffling in the corner. At the door, the big erstwhile horn player Tethra is on guard watch. As the door opens up the man is in position already, and he relaxes only a fraction at the sight of familiar uniforms. "It's safe!" he calls out in his rumbling bass as alarmed gazes flash to the door. Webb and the sallow-skinned, green-eyed Gunnery Sergeant who walks alongside him both move towards the bar, before hefting the crate up onto the counter. Webb nods to Tethra as he passes, and turns his gaze elsewhere in the bar, searching the masses for those who've established themselves as being 'in charge' of the scene. A fifth Marine brings up the rear, carrying no less than three crates with markings that would imply that its contents are of a medical nature. It's not too difficult to pick out who's in charge. Ariani, looking grim and haggard but alert, immediately comes into view when she stands up sharply from a booth where a wounded woman is half-reclined. As cries of "oh, thank gods!" and "they're bringing supplies!" cross the room, Ariani swiftly calls out, "Settle down, people, settle down, we're gonna ration this out like everything else, okay?" Directly on the heels of her call, a slender, black-clad figure emerges from the kitchen, a protective green vest adding more bulk than usual to her slender frame, a blaster riding on her thigh. "Ariani," comes Shen's call, "what's -- oh, thank gods." The young musician's voice sounds out rather more clearly over the top of the bartender, as Shenner tacks on, "You heard the lady, everybody settle down!" Anxiously, the exhausted citizens comply, though one or two can't quite succeed in biting back moans of pain... or in the case of a couple of children, little whimpers of hope. Most of the crates bear the lettering 'CDMC' in some form or another, the insignia of one of Caspia's larger military contractors. More crates are laid out upon the bar... labels betraying their contents as medical supplies, field rations, a water condensor unit, portable power supplies, and then a few crates bearing government identification numbers, and words like "Tracker-16" and "DL-44". Webb produces a vibro-knife and carefully begins to cut open the first of the cases, then tosses the cover aside... blaster rifles. Ragged cheers erupt out of those nearest the soldiers and the crates, and for a moment it's hard to tell what's being cheered more -- the medical supplies and the rations, or the weaponry. "I said _settle down_!" Ariani can be heard to bark out, her voice gruff, her expression not without sympathy but reflecting steely determination. She turns to the Marines, then, and goes on briskly, "We've got a rationing system worked out, but by the Force, fellas, we can all use this." "And _these_." Shenner steps forward, her eyes on the rifles. The redheaded musician is thoroughly rumpled, looking worn around the edges of her eyes, but the grim delight flashing across her eyes is unmistakable. "How many you got for us? We can sure as hell use 'em escorting people south to the base." Webb pulls one of the Tracker-16's from the case, and holds it up for Shenner to scrutinize... it's a fairly heavy weapon, larger than the Blastech E-11, made mostly out of pressed metal, rather than the expensive composites that compose over 75 percent of most current military weapons in the Marine arsenals. It's a weapon made to equip guerilla armies, "Six per crate, 12 so far... more available on request." Webb gives you a Tracker-16 Blaster Rifle. Three months ago, Shenneret Veery might have looked just a trifle nervous about being handed a rifle. Not so now. She takes the weapon without so much as batting an eye; as Ariani gets to work drafting Emma and another tired but alert youngster to carry the medical supplies to the wounded at the back of the room, Shenner's only lingering sign of post-adolescence is a slight curl to her mouth and a muttered, "Cool." But then she looks up, green eyes to Webb's blue. "I've never shot anything this big before. If there's anything to know besides point and shoot, brief me." At the door, Tethra casts the briefest of looks at the weapons, his dark face turning abruptly interested at the sight of the rifles, but the man's apparently got the makings of a good guard. He doesn't allow himself to be distracted for more than a second or two. Others around the room don't have that problem at the moment; two young Sarian men and a wide-eyed girl eye the rifles with a mixture of hunger and determination, youngsters determined to defend what's left of their homes. "Brief _us_!" one of them calls out. Elly enters the Sandbar. Elly has arrived. Elly looks at you for a moment. Webb looks at you for a moment. Like most of the rest of the planet, the Sandbar's been transformed for the worse with the landing of the Empire on Caspar's surface. Without electricity in the building, the bar has to rely upon what weak watery daylight makes it in through the windows and what portable light sources have been carried in for illumination. The big dark-skinned horn player Tethra is on guard at the door. Dirty and exhausted citizens can be spotted focusing hopeful faces on the Marines who've come in with their crates. Ariani, her little sister Emma, and another young woman drafted for the task have begun carrying the new medical supplies around to the worst off of the citizens huddled at the tables and booths all over the room. Several hale young people, though, are hungrily eying the weapons that have been brought them. At their forefront, just handed a rifle by Webb, is Shenner. Webb hefts up one of the Tracker-16 blaster rifles from the crate and lets it rest naturally in his grip, muzzle towards the ceiling. A seperate crate is packed with power units for the rifles. Webb explains in a clear, commanding tone of voice, much as he would as if he were briefing a group of new recruits as Gunnery Sergeant Sung passes him one of the power units, "The power unit has a slot on one side, that points towards the muzzle of the rifle, and slides into its housing like this... push it in until it clicks," he demonstrates with the rifle that he presently holds up, "Pull back the cocking handle and the weapon will begin to charge," a small lever is visible on either side of the weapon, designed so that it can be used either left or right handed, "Fire selector is just forward of the trigger... has three settings. Up and back is safe. Middle position is single shots... full foreward and down," he pauses, a faint grin spreading across his face, "fires bursts. There is also a second selector which switches between stun and blast." Elly steps in past the guard and nods. "Wow, its dark in here..." she looks around and makes her way towards Webb, "Hello sir." "Can we get some water back here?" comes a call from the single civilian in the room who's got medical training, a man in the battered remains of a jacket with the logo of one of the local hospitals on its breast. "This woman needs some water!" A canister is passed hand to hand his way. Bacta patches are opened up, slapped on small wounds already sterilized by judicious applications of the Sandbar's alcoholic stock, and Ariani diverts herself to handing out the field rations. A few glad cries escape the hungrier refugees in the room, and not a single being refuses the unexpected bounty that's been dropped in their laps. A small knot of people, though, gather near Webb as he speaks, and Shenner in particular listens to the soldier with an uncompromisingly businesslike expression on her face. Green eyes flick their attention to each portion of the weapon she holds as Webb points them out; slender hands usually seen playing any number of instruments acquaint themselves with the rifle's assorted important details. And at last she nods shortly, asking the single terse question, "That it?" Four other Marines, aside from Webb and Elly are in the Sandbar. Three presently busy attempting to give what medical attention they can with their varying levels of training. Webb looks up towards Elly and gives her a nod, "Evening McFarlane... just in time to play good samaritan." Webb hefts the rifle up to his shoulder, letting the stock settle against his shoulder, "Iron sights are up top... work a lot like pistol sights, except there's ring and a post. Line them up, squeeze the trigger. Keep your bursts short... long ones tend to just waste ammo. Aim low on the target, about gut-level... common mistake for first-time shooters is to aim too high. You can also fire from the hip... quicker, but less accurate." One or two of the young people nod with a rapidness suggesting a touch of desperation; one can only wonder whether these will be among those who aim too high. Shenner, in the meantime, experimentally lifts the rifle she holds, peering through the sight to see what it looks like. She and an older woman and a Horansi with streaks of gray beginning to show in her fur all nod with more reserve, each of them filing away the information Webb's handing them along with the weapons. Shenner's gaze clearly and sharply moves back and forth between the Marine officer and the rifle in her hands, and the russet-haired bard's entire face and stance project an aura of self-containment that sets her a little apart from the others around her. There's hints of worry or eagerness or fury in the faces of the others, but Shenner's features show absolutely nothing. Elly looks at the Trackers then at Webb, "Mind if I see one of those sir?" Webb hefts a second Tracker-16 from the crate and passes it towards the power armor clad PFC. It's a bulkier weapon than the Bi-Polar... less elegant in appearance, by far, and heavy, "Ogle all you want, McFarlane," he comments dryly, before turning his gaze back towards Shenner, and proceeds to break open the final crate. Taking this as a sign that the briefing is done, Shenner slings the rifle she's been given on one shoulder, freeing up both her hands to start handing out the guns to the others in the room. "First dibs," she calls out, resonant young voice drawing on a singer's ability to be heard, "go to those who have already volunteered to escort others south. You, you, and you--" The Horansi, the woman nearby, and the biggest of the young men listening to the briefing are passed guns. "We've got to get another group going soon, Shen!" someone calls out. "Yeah, yeah, I know, sit tight." The musician turns back to Webb expectantly, waiting to see what's coming out of that last crate before she lobs forth her questions about the status of the city streets between the bar and the base. Elly shakes her head and catches the rifle easily in one hand, "I was just going to see what you were giving them," she says, grinning. She looks down the sights of the rifle then puts it back into the crate, "I don't like em.." The last crate... by far the largest, contains slate-green tubes. A trained eye would recognize them as being... old. They probably were removed from service during the last modernization cycle of the Marines. Webb holds up one of the tubes and says, "Empire is using a lot of armored forces in this attack, particularly AT-STs. This won't stop an AT-AT, but it will damage smaller vehicles, particularly from the sides, top or behind. To use, simply pull out the pin, extend the tube, sight, and fire. Trigger handle /always/ goes towards the /front/," he emphasises. He nods to Elly's comments, "A lot of military shooters would say that, McFarlane, but the Tracker-16 does have its advantages. It's easy to learn, it's easy to make, easy to maintain, it has the stopping power to kill an armored stormtrooper, and it's bloody well near indestructible." Magic words, those, "kill an armored stormtrooper". Those four words set off a chain reaction across the bar, and several people who'd been listening in from seated positions are on their feet in a surge of grim exultation once Webb's uttered them. "_Yes_!" "That _is_ what _I'm_ talkin' about!" Several other bursts of words in other languages sound out, too: Corellian. Horansi. And over the top of it all, Shenner bellows, "_SETTLE DOWN!_" It takes a moment, but the roomful of people eventually obeys her, and it's then with a sharp glint in her eyes that the redhead finally looks at Webb again. "Indestructible is good. How many?" She nods at the crate. Webb grins at Shenner and answers plainly, "That's the other advantage... they're plentiful. Just give me a shout if you need more." Elly pulls over a stool and sits down, setting her AA-8 across her lap. Elly sighs and looks over at Webb, "So what happens after the fighting's over? Going to collect 'em again? "Plentiful" is another magic word. A round of cheers breaks out across the room, and at least for a moment or two, neither Ariani nor Shenner seems inclined to step on the best news this building full of battered, exhausted people has had all day. Shenner meets Webb's grin with a slight one of her own, and then waves a hand for silence at those nearest her. "We'll hand 'em out in a minute, people -- look, pal," and this is clearly to Webb, "we got people back there that need to be under better shelter than here. We were gonna send down a group when Karm and Aa'leet get back with their news, but if you can tell us anything about the situation between here and the base, it'll help." McFarlane's question is noted, not only by Shenner, but by several of the nearby civilians. "Ain't you jumpin' the gun a little, lady?" calls out a husky-voiced male. "Yeah, let's worry the hell about 'over' once the fighting _is_ over!" Webb shrugs his shoulders faintly at Elly and says, "We'll probably get a few of them back... the rocket launchers are non-reusable, so most of them will have nothing but decorative value when the war is over. As for the others... bound for a Nar Shadda gun market, probably." He gestures out towards the room, "They do have a point, you know." Elly sighs and rolls her eyes, "Well, I don't know about you, but I'd like the fighting to be over soon, and the way you were screaming earlier about killing I don't know if I'm comfortable with large weapons like these in the hands of the population," she folds her arms. Dead silence falls across the bar. Shenner then asks coldly, "You'd rather we get squashed by walkers or have our houses burned down with no way to defend ourselves?" Elly glances over at Shenner, "Didn't I say AFTER the fighting was over?" she sighs, looking around the room once more. Webb looks over towards Elly, then lets his gaze sweep the room, examining the would-be freedom fighters who are gathered here. Finally, he chips his own opinion into the argument that's brewing between Shenner and Elly, "The position of the government of the CDU, McFarlane, is that they'd rather have an armed population than no population. These people need a fighting chance... and we could use all the help we can get." Several of the previously jubilant faces in the room begin to turn colder, matching the demeanor of the grim-eyed young bard. Shenner takes a step or two closer to McFarlane, propelled not by hostility, but by a surge of the first strong emotion she's shown since the Marines came in through the door. "Do we _look_ like we're gonna take these weapons and go sell 'em to the highest bidder the moment we're not in danger?" she growls. Once more her singer's voice carries, clear and ringing, and she starts pointing around the room. Her slender finger indicates the frightened young mother cradling the baby who'd been sniffling in the corner. "Does _she_?" The finger moves around to the medic still crouched over the woman with the broken ribs. "How about them?" Elly nods, "Yes sir, I know," she looks over at Webb, then back at Shenner and sighs, "Nevermind ," she says, remaining calm and watches Shenner. "Though I wouldn't come too close," she warns, looking the woman over. The Shenneret Veery of three months ago, the one who might have been nervous when handed a blaster rifle, might also have reacted to the warning -- or challenge -- or perhaps both -- in McFarlane's voice by surging forth with a raised fist and a caustic challenge of her own. But not so now. Shenner merely coldly returns the other woman's regard, snaps, "Do I _look_ like an idiot?", and turns back to Webb with an unmistakable air of a girl with more important priorities. "So how about that situation check, pal?" she goes on, without a trace of hesitation, as if the disagreement had never flared up. Elly simply shrugs to Shara, not seeming to be bugged by her at all. Sitting there she hmms, looking around the tavern, more at the walls and ceiling, seeing how they are holding up. Lon enters the Sandbar. Lon has arrived. Webb pulls out a datpad, and lays it out upon the counter, and begins to explain the information displayed... where help can be found, where the Imperial forces are, and what (within reason) is expected in terms of military developments over the next few days. The situation as defused as it's going to get, Shenner focuses every facet of her attention on Webb's briefing, gesturing the other self-elected escorters of refugees nearer so they can listen in too. Only when everyone has been briefed on the state of the streets between the Sandbar and the base are the rest of the weapons handed out... and in short order, a ragtag group of the civilians, escorted by three newly armed volunters, begins to venture warily out of the bar, exchanging grim and terse farewells with those remaining as they go. And only then does Shenner bid her own farewell, claiming in a carrying voice that she's going out to meet Karm and Aa'leet on their way back. Emma, looking distinctly nervous but far less perky than is normal for her with a blaster at her side, goes with her. Before Shen goes, she takes a moment to catch Webb's gaze. Once more the girl's face allows a brief hint of emotion; this time, it's gratitude. And then she's gone. [End log.]